


Five Seconds

by nanasekei



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (you are just gonna have to trust me on this one), Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), but also a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-02-04 09:11:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18601483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: From the moment Steve suits up, he knows what he’ll do.





	Five Seconds

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Pięć sekund](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632410) by [Hiddlesconda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiddlesconda/pseuds/Hiddlesconda)



> Thanks to Ava, for betaing this; and for Carol, my dear friend who keeps me sane. <3
> 
> Major spoiler warnings.

From the moment Steve suits up, he knows what he’ll do.

It’s the five seconds, he thinks, which convinces him. Five seconds – the world, his world, won’t even know he’s gone. It’s selfish, maybe, but it’s the one thing he’s got, and Steve thinks: nothing is stopping him from using it.

Leaving the stones is the easy part. Afterwards—there’s little hesitation.

He knocks on Peggy’s door. She’s astonished to see him, momentarily paralyzed in the doorstep; but no matter the reality, she’s still very much Peggy Carter – it takes Steve barely ten minutes to get her to understand.

Afterwards, the conversation flows easily. Peggy doesn’t ask him much about his reality, clever enough to understand there are things he just won’t answer. They talk about the post-War, about Peggy’s new husband, about mundane things. They remember old times back at the base and laugh.

They dance. It’s comforting, the warmth of Peggy’s body next to his. Steve loves her, then – loves her in the same easy, simple way he loved before going in the ice; in the same way he loved when he fetched water for her seventy years later because she started coughing. Steve loves her with the love that filled him with the determination and strength on the many times where he felt as if he had none. Steve loves her with the same love that let him carry her casket.

When the music stops, Peggy’s hands go to his face, and she whispers, not a question, _this isn’t your last stop_.

No matter the reality, she still knows him too well.

Steve hugs her tightly before leaving.

* * *

 

The thing is: Steve doesn’t even plan very far ahead. It’s quite a change, going from the man out of time to the man with all the time in the world, and the weight of it makes him dizzy. He knows what he wishes, but he also knows it’s not that simple – it’s not up just to him.

Still. Five seconds. This piece of time; this tiny, miniscule piece of time that won’t matter to anyone else, this… this is what Steve's lifetime amounts to, and he intends to spend it as he wants.

And he could have days, months, years or decades. But all of this could be worthless, for what he knows. He has this one thing – his life – to offer, but he has no way of knowing if it would be accepted, if it would be welcomed at all.

If he’s completely honest, when he takes the elevator up the Avengers tower, the only, sole thing he’s hoping for is to see Tony’s face again.

* * *

 

At his workshop, Tony stares at him with wide, bright eyes, and Steve wants to cry.

 _Cap?_ He asks. His voice is an electric current through Steve’s body, making him shudder. _What are you doing here? Everything alright in DC?_

Steve wants to cry. He wants to scream, to fall to his knees. He wants to find out how it feels to hug Tony, to hold him in his arms when there is still life in his body.

What he says is, _do you want to get lunch?_

Tony stares at him, and Steve thinks: this is it. Tony will refuse, and Steve won’t push it – has no right to even think about it – and he will go.

Five seconds, a whole lifetime, just for him to get the chance to look one more time in those eyes. Steve takes the moment to study those irises, the mix of gold and light brown and a few, small traces of green.

It’s worth it, he’s thinking, when Tony smiles, stands up and says _sure, I could use a break._

* * *

 

Through lunch, Steve can’t look away for one second. He stares as Tony eats his salad, as he rambles endlessly, at the way his hand holds the fork, at the blue circle on his chest.

Tony speaks a lot, but Steve forces himself to get a word in, from time to time. It’s a little awkward and Steve wishes he could be more at ease, but he can’t – there’s fire in his chest, curling at every movement of Tony’s body, at every sign of life he emanates.

Tony, on the other hand, is clearly wary. He makes a few quips and Steve can grasp an element of bait in them that would absolutely have worked with him years ago, making them snap at each other within seconds. This time, he doesn’t fall for it, replying to them with a smile, and he gets to watch as Tony’s armor lowers a little, as his grin grows more authentic.

When they’re finishing desert, Tony gives him a long, thoughtful look with those brown eyes, and Steve shivers.

Tony asks: _Is everything okay?_

Steve swallows, feels his stomach clenching, his posture stiffening and face heating. Five seconds, he thinks. All he has to give.

Very slowly, he reaches for Tony’s hand across the table. The warmth and the feel of his calloused skin makes heat prickle Steve’s neck. His breath shortens. Holding Thor’s hammer was easier.

He tells Tony the truth: _I’m just nervous. I… I’ve wanted this for a while._

Tony stares at him for a moment; then he opens a slow, wide grin that makes something inside Steve open its eyes, take a breath and live again – something he hadn’t even known was dead until now.

* * *

 

Time passes.

Steve is aware of every second. Every breath Tony takes by his side is a miracle he treasures.

Steve finds out how Tony hugs, how he kisses, how he makes love. He finds out how Tony blinks himself awake in the morning, how he likes his cereal, how he shivers and sweats in the middle of a nightmare. He finds out how Tony dresses himself, how he showers, how he stumbles in bed after a long stretch of work. He finds out how Tony’s hands touch, how his eyelashes flutter at every sunrise, how he hums when he kisses.

His heart seems to stretch to include every moment, every nanosecond, becoming bigger than Steve ever thought it could be.

It’s such a strange feeling, having time as an ally rather than a curse, but Steve comes to accept it, gets used to it. He talks to Tony a lot, loving listening to his voice, loving making him laugh, loving even arguing with him when they inevitably do. He loves Tony’s skin and his armor, but above all he loves the spot where they meet, where one ends and the other begins. That place inside Tony that’s so bright Steve thinks he may go blind and not miss being able to see.

On one of their first nights together, Tony is a hurricane, letting words and confessions slip in between sucking marks on Steve’s skin. He takes Steve as nobody ever did, and Steve feels conscious of every inch of his body, as if it comes alive just by becoming Tony’s.

At the end, when they’re over, breathless and sweaty, Tony wraps his arms and legs around Steve and whispers, his voice frantic and desperate and delicious: _Don’t leave. Please stay._

Steve kisses him, too eager to not be clumsy, and, again, tells him the truth: _I’ll stay as long as you want me to._

* * *

 

He and Tony talk a lot. It’s one of their favorite things to do, Steve finds. Tony loves talking, and Steve loves to hear every word that comes out of his mouth.

Tony also asks a lot of questions. Sometimes his questions make Steve tense up involuntarily, but most of the time, they’re small things, details about Steve that no one else ever cared to know. He asks Steve what he thinks of rainy days ( _You know you can run on a treadmill, right? The plants need water, Cap, don’t be selfish_ ), his opinion on airplane food ( _Okay, I stand being called out on my “not-born in the Depression” privilege)_ and his favorite color _(Brown? Whose favorite color is brown?)_. The questions come at random times, unpredictable, and although Steve wants to match them, to let Tony know he also wants to gather those same details about him. He can’t make himself ask – his answers he pieces together through careful observation, always attentive to Tony’s every move.

Once, they’re in bed, and Tony asks him: _Hey, what’s your favorite battle suit?_

Steve thinks before answering: _I don’t know_. Then, after a moment, he adds: _My least favorite is the one they gave me after the ice._

Tony frowns as if Steve has said something very intriguing. _Why? Chaffing?_

 _It doesn’t do my ass any favors,_ Steve replies.

Tony laughs, his hand lowering, pinching one of Steve’s naked ass cheeks. _That’s true,_ he says with a grin. _Didn’t stop me from staring, though._

Steve turns to him. _Were you staring?_

Tony’s face is amused. _Well, duh_. His expression softens as he speaks, his hand stroking Steve’s hair. _It must be a shock to your adorably oblivious head, but I wanted you from the first time I saw you, Mr. Rogers._

Steve’s throat knots. His breath sharpens, his heart pounds.

Seven years, he thinks. He has five seconds and all the time in world, but he’d change everything in a heartbeat for those seven years.

 _Hey, hey,_ Tony whispers, nestling closer to him. _What is it, baby? Do you want to talk?_ He presses a light kiss on Steve’s shoulder, already used to those times where Steve tenses up, clearly thinking his mind is somewhere else. _Or do you want me to just hold you?_

Steve can’t speak, so he just nods, and Tony does just that. He curls around Steve’s body and holds him as if he’ll never let him go.

* * *

 

Time passes.

Not everything is the same, but some things are.

When SHIELD falls and Steve sees Bucky, he goes to Tony and tells him what he knows.

Tony snaps at him. His face flushes with despair and rage, tears prickle in his eyes. He’s paralyzed for one moment, then tries to reach for the armor in another, but stops when Steve lands a hand on his arm.

He clings to Steve, then. His body is shaking so hard, Steve is afraid he’s having an anxiety attack; but after a while, it steadies.

He asks to be alone, and Steve complies.

He only sees Tony again at night, when he comes to bed and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist.

Steve asks if he’s alright, and Tony says: _Not yet, but I will be._

There’s a pause.

A long stretch of silence passes, and then Tony whispers into Steve’s ear: _Thanks for telling me._

Steve shudders, his own breath lacking, and suddenly he’s the one crying, shaking with hard, painful sobs. Tony, confused, holds him, whispers questions and reassurances, _I’m gonna be fine_ and _I understand_ and _don’t worry, we’ll find him._

Steve cries himself to sleep that night, and Tony stays with him the entire time, trying to ease him from a pain he deserves.

* * *

 

Time passes, and Steve loves the way Tony looks at the world, how his eyes sparkle with interest at the tiniest things. He loves the way Tony’s mind works, how he will never understand it.

He loves Tony’s wrinkles, loves kissing them with special care and attention, because he knows Tony’s embarrassed of them. He loves the tinge of grey in Tony’s hair, loves running his hands though the fine silver locks.

He loves, loves, _loves_ the reactor. He loves the faint blue glow that comes from it, loves the fact that Tony’s heart is so huge and so bright it needs to be plastered on his chest for the entire world to see.

He keeps himself from touching it, though – it’s a barrier he doesn’t feel that he should cross, a part of Tony he feels he doesn’t have a right to ask for. But Tony notices his looks (of course he does), and one time he takes Steve’s hand himself, smiles, and guides it gently to the center of his chest, letting him feel the hard surface.

 _I gotta say, that’s one hell of a weird kink to have,_ Tony quips, but his eyes shine with such happiness and tenderness that Steve feels dizzy. _But you can touch it as much as you want, you know. It’s yours._

Steve’s breath is like needles inside his lungs. _No, you… you can’t…_

Tony’s face fills with challenge. _Of course I can. I already told you – it’s always been yours._

(The memory has him, out of control, and Steve suddenly feels the weight of a small, triangular shape; pressed onto his hand with anger and bitterness. He can’t speak, blinking too fast, his eyes burning. He lacks the voice to ask: _even then?_ , and he lacks the courage to ask _why?._ )

His hand acts on its own volition, touching the reactor and circling the skin around it. Tony lets him, his smile wide and comforting, and Steve thinks that one single lifetime is probably not even enough.

* * *

 

There are so many moments in between. There are the moments where Tony wakes up in a frenzy, panicked, and Steve has to hold him to calm him down; there are moments when the reverse happens. There are the moments where they fight, driving each other crazy; there are the moments where they bicker in the cheesiest way possible, grinning so hard Steve’s cheeks hurt.

There is the moment right after Steve finishes coordinating his group therapy meeting at the V.A., coming out of the role he knows inhabits with such ease, and Tony is looking at him from the doorstep with so much affection Steve’s words die in throat. Then there is the moment where Tony comes up to him, hugs him by his waist, and whispers _you’re so fucking amazing_ only for Steve to hear.

There are the moments where Steve thinks love, in itself, is not a good word to express what they have. Steve thinks love is too small a word – too simple, too easy –, and what he feels for Tony is something humanity hasn’t yet named. He wonders if in some reality someone has found the word, a word for the way he watches Tony yawn and stretch his arms above his head in the morning, a word for the feeling of dying and being born exactly at the same time.

Those moments – all of them – pass, as all moments should. And when Steve’s own wrinkles start showing up, when Tony starts complaining too much about back pain, when they spend more time in bed cuddling and talking then ravishing each other’s bodies, Steve thinks the clock is running out, and he tells Tony everything.

Tony listens, attentive. Just like Peggy, he grasps the concept pretty quickly and very well.

 _So we never got together, in your world?_ He asks, after Steve finishes. Steve thinks it’s an insane question, because he told him _everything_ , from _did you know_ to _liar_ and the weight of the reactor on his hand.

 _No, Tony. How could we?_ Steve asks, frowning. _You… You didn’t—You hated me._

Tony rolls his eyes. _Nah._ He takes his hand to Steve’s, interlacing their fingers. _Sounds like I was pretty fucking furious with you for a while._ He takes Steve’s hand to his mouth, turning and pressing a kiss at his palm. _But we got over it, didn’t we?_

 _Well—yes._ Steve’s answer is weak, his voice thin. _But that’s not—you wouldn’t want to..._

Tony gives him an amused, soft smile. He turns Steve’s hand again, kissing the inside of his wrist this time. _Do you know one of the most fun things about science?_ He asks, his eyes finding Steve’s. _It’s that even among this crazy, wild universe where anything can happen, we are able to find constants, things to help guide our way through it._ He leans forward, head resting on Steve’s shoulder, eyes never leaving his. _Now, not to brag, but science is kind of my area, so my word carries some weight. And I don’t think there is a single version of me, anywhere, that wouldn’t fall in love with you._

Steve swallows, feels himself blinking too fast. Tony grins and kisses every tear he drops.

* * *

 

When Tony dies, Steve has his arms around him, Tony’s head resting on his chest in a hospital bed. It’s not the first time Steve has held his body, but it hurts just as much.

* * *

 

The lake, when he comes back, is exactly the same as he left it. Steve sits down, his muscles not what they used to be.

Sam arrives a moment later. Sam - wonderful, kind Sam – sees him and smiles, understand his choice without Steve needing to explain it.

He doesn’t understand everything, though, of course (no one could), so he asks: _Do you want to tell me about her?_

Steve smiles. The ring on his finger is a welcome feel, a daily comfort he’s grown used to in the past years. He smiles and thinks of Tony’s smile, and he knows that in the end those five seconds weren’t just his to give away like that.

 _No_ , he says.

He never tells anyone.

* * *

 

Steve dies on his sleep, a few years later.

Dying is quick and easy, the complete opposite of getting frozen. For a moment, Steve sees nothing but void – but then he feels warmth against his eyelids, solidness under his back, and he blinks, once, twice, and opens his eyes.

There’s an open field around him, and the sky is golden. Steve thinks he can see something in the distance, a large structure resembling a palace.

_Took you long enough, old man._

He sits up and, a few steps from him, Tony gives him a smile. His hands are in his pockets – his hair has tinges of grey, but he’s younger than he was the last time Steve saw him. Steve stands up and walks towards him, noticing he’s younger himself – younger as he was the first time Tony died.

 _The universe is a mess, but this place kind of straightens things out,_ Tony says, his eyes studying Steve carefully. _Puts everybody where they’re supposed to be._

Steve looks at him, and a shiver goes down his spine. This is a Tony he’s never touched. _Tony._ _I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t…_

He doesn’t finish this sentence, because Tony steps forward, grabs his shirt and pulls him into a deep, long kiss. _Now,_ he says, pulling away merely an inch, his noses still touching, as if he can’t bear to be further apart. _Not to start out being needy, but I think you, sir, owe me an eternity._

Steve grins brightly, arms going to Tony’s waist and pulling him closer. _Yeah,_ he says. _I think that might be enough._

**Author's Note:**

> Tagging this as "Canon Compliant" was perhaps my most satisfactory tagging moment of all time.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! As always, I appreciate comments and kudos (please refrain from ranting/salting/bashing the movie in the comments, if possible. I don't want to engage with any discourse). You can also [reblog the fic here](https://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/post/184445872450/five-seconds-nanasekei-marvel-cinematic).


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